Who is Captain Murphy: a scathing expose by Hamtaro S. Thompson

UPDATE: in the wake of shocking new revelations, we have issued a follow up report, which you can read here.

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Since bursting onto the scene a couple months ago with this blistering  Flying Lotus + Earl Sweatshirt collabo, Captain Murphy has left the mouths of the collective hip hop blogosphere have been agog with one question: just who is the purveyor of this new brand of deep throated, well-animated madvillainy? A rapper with the balls to literally descend into gibberish in the middle of a verse, but beyond that, Captain Murphy is also really fucking good. But while most peoples theories seem to just end with "it's probably Tyler, The Creator," this reporter is a fucking journalist, and, idle speculation be damned, intends to do his fucking job.

So, without further ado, here are some potential true identities of Captain Murphy:

Lil B

It's not Lil B.

Malice of the Clipse 

(on right, AKA not Pusha-T)

While Pusha-T was busy infiltrating the p4k editorial staff and submarine racing Kanye to the next man-made coke-volcano island, perhaps one Gene Thornton merely bid his time before unleashing a villainous and piratey assault of verbiage over similarly lurky production from some potential next-Neptunes. Apparently he's also changed his name to No Malice--and isn't that kind of 180 away from such emotion just a little too convenient for someone who is hiding said supervillain status?

MIMS

HAS ANYONE EVER SEEN MIMS AND CAPTAIN MURPHY IN THE SAME ROOM I ASK YOU?!?!?!?!?!?! Actually has anyone seen MIMS in the last five years at all? Plus, how much of a coup would it be if he had actually been some hard-talking, baritoned garble-master the entire time? It would certainly go to great lengths to demystify the apparent reflexivity of his hotness.

Lil Z

(I don't actually don't know which one he is)

You know, actually this one kind of makes sense. He even has the Flying Lotus connection. 

Glenn Danzig

Whether sacrificing Tipper Gore's favorite chicken or providing us with images of an alternate universe in which not only is Glenn Danzig a movie star but in which Glenn Danzig is a movie star starring the film X-Men (2000), in which movie star Glenn Danzig is playing the part of the character Wolverine, only, compared to our fey little Hugh Jackman-Wolverine-playing-based universe, Glenn Danzig: singer, songwriter, comic author, punk-legend, entrepreneur, alternate universe movie star, Misfit, Samhainian, and, uh, Danzig is playing him less gay. So why not Captain Murphy as well.

Aphex Twin

In the world of electronic music, there seems to be like a ten percent chance that anything new is actually some new alias of Aphex Twin. I see no reason not to extend that theory here.

Burial

Kind of similar; no one seems to know who Burial is, even when they know who he is.

*Wooooogity woogity woogity...*

But actually, perhaps we are looking at this wrong. In fact, much of the proof may just be in the lyrics. To wit:

Mechagodzilla

It's all there: "I'm Gojira in the mirror on some nonstop chop." Who else would see themselves in the mirror as such but what is essentially a Godzilla made in variously Alien and Japanese government Kaiju chop shops?

Damian Wayne 

Batman's crazy ass League of Shadows-trained son, no doubt "lives his life like [he's] Bruce Wayne, in bittersweet pain ... and guilt..." just as does the new Robin as he attempts outgrow his childhood as an assassin in order to became a hero and good person. With all those Batman samples, you might be asking, "but is he not then more likely to be The Batman himself?" to which I would only say "um, Batman isn't real, dumbass."

But after putting myself through the (proverbial) ringer, unearthing mass conspiracies, and pouring a literal metric fuckton of liquid adrenaline into my brain, this reporter can proudly say that here is the big one, the exclusive, the huge-ass-motherfucking-scoop-de-la-scoop to end all internet-hip-hop-blogs-looking-for-the-identies-of-anonymous-rappers-who-everyone-thinks-is-Tyler-The-Creator-for-some-reason scoops. Because my friends, the answer all along, was right under our noses. Verbose? Good with words? A phenomenon, yet somehow able to remain unseen by the public. Ye gods, and stay back, my friends. For Captain Murphy, quite obviously, now that you think about it, none other, than... 

Thomas Pynchon

Captain Murphy is Thomas Pynchon.

This has been a scathing investigative report.

Hamtaro S. Thompson. Signing out.

(You're welcome.)

mathy mondays I

Flail your arms in crazy meters on your way to work--it's mathy monday!

How does Hella write a song? I always figured they just covered all the frets they wanted to use in honey, unleashed a swarm of bees, wound up Zach Hill, and let everything do its magic. Or maybe they just sit around the campfire, figuring out with some percussion and the trusty ol' acoustic geetar? ...I guess that's why I don't play this stuff.

(also, you gotta love that shit at :57.)

little hamsters, big indentures

Running around on a wheel going nowhere. Not a metaphor; that's what my family did for fun. Poor fuckers probably didn't realize they weren't going anywhere. That one's a metaphor.

But sitting in poop, sipping water through a straw, and the aforementioned Sisyphian task did not bring me the physical or spiritual or whatever-the-fucksical fulfillment it seemed to bestow upon the rest of the denizens of the store. No, give me the arts any day, and not just to nibble on--not with my actual teeth anyway.

Anyone who's ever read a music or film or lit or some specialized thing blog of their own volition is a nerd. I know I am. The Oxford English Dictionary defines nerd as--just kidding, I'm not gonna pull out any of that word-defining bullshit. A nerd is just someone who cares about stuff, a lot. Or, someone who cares about stuff maybe a lot more than most other people. Which means, a lot of the time, you're gonna like, love, fucking WORSHIP all over some stuff or subculture or region of stuff that, you'll realize, in the real world, no one actually likes.

And it's gonna look a lot like this:

The I don't get it. The feigned interest. The hollow laugh. Every music nerd has had this moment. Many, fucking, times. And at least with music the song is over quickly. Ever sat through the entirety of a favorite movie, trying to laugh or otherwise react in just the right amount to clue the rest of the nonplussed audience that they should, in fact, be very plussed right now?

Even for a thick-furred, cigar-chomping, balls-trippin rodent like me, that shit can be fucking trying. In fact, this hamster once found himself a hair's length away gouging out a friend's eyeball from because he'd said Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots was "pretty lame" before he'd even realized his claws were out--and that album is catchy as fuck. Just try turning anyone onto anything belonging to a subgenre beginning with the word "prog". Or, you know, anything sub-anything at all.

But gut twisting as they are, those negative reactions are pretty rare, and, perhaps actually more tolerable than the usual, because at least  that means the person was reacting to the damn thing. Most often? You just get kind of a blank stare, or blank nod, or blank sentence, or, shudder, the internet-pacisfying, all-encompassing, mind-numbedly engulfing "meh."

And after your life's work (and make no mistake, for we nerds our relationships with the objects of our nerddom is just that) has finally had its canonically-foundationed back broken by the last of the "eh"s it can possibly take, it's easy to become what people call a "snob".

And from here we must make a decision.

On the one paw:

Look down on the fools who can't appreciate it. Who bask in the--skip the hyphenated hyperbole--generic; who hum nakedly commercial bullshit and think it's some great art thing; who only experience new movements or genres via same's most trend-fucking carpetbaggers and money-grubbing sellouts and think that that's a thing to do that is fucking okay; whose radio dial is permanently welded to whatever clear-channel station is broadcast generic "classic rock block: your source for Sweet Home Alabama every hour on the air, and only the Bob Dylan songs that couldn't possibly be construed as controversial (oh and also now a bunch of stuff from the 90's for some reason)," that might be good but not for the reasons they think it is; and, worst of all, who would dare utter the the phrase "dude, it's only a ______ <song/movie/computer game/shirt/steak/hamster-based anime/whatever>" and not do so tragically, self-deprecatingly, but actually have the audacity to believe it. Who don't fucking care, and wouldn't seem to care to try either.

But on the other:

Attempt tolerance. Sure, they might not get your more unusual tastes, but remember, they don't have the same vast, enormously researched artistic context as you. It's hard to recognize and appreciate innovation when you don't know what developments are actually being innovated upon. And, hey, no they're not as dedicated to this shit as you, but, you probably know deep down inside, most people have this thing called shit to do, and simply lack whatever you had that facilitated the countless hours you spent tracking down a rip of some Masahiko Togashi LP on some mysterious Czech blog. And just because you haven't explored the foundational texts of grunge doesn't mean you can't still enjoy Smells Like Teen Spirit. And, as head-bashingly fucktarded as the very phrase "classic rock" may be, there is a good reason that long dead boomer horse continues to beat down the airwaves to this very day. Because sharing the love is generally a better experience than being a dick about it, right?

via xkcd

It's a beautiful notion--one that, I'm not afraid to admit, brings a tear to my freakishly giant eye. I mean, what's the point of being a king of cultural nerddom when you just spend every day stuck on the throne alone (even if the throneroom is decked out with a sweet projector ready to render the planets in Tree of Life in their full, "ZOMG 20 MINUTES OF PICTURES OF SPACE AND THEN A DINOSAUR" glory)? In an age of hyper-connected, instant mass media fetish-culture, how can the nerd afford not to develop critical faculties that aim not just at his fellow, distant high priest critics and bloggers and--*shudder*--commenters, but at his increasingly culturally fragmented, actual, far less involved friends? Because what could be better than that moment of vindication you feel when you step into a friends car and he's head-knocking to the Slum Village album you burned for him two months ago and forgot about? (a lot of things, yes, but, like, context.)

And if you really care about art, think about the artist for a second? Do you really think they would rather that you the converted, instead of spreading the gospel, elect to keep their magic to yourself? (and yes, if the answer is "yes," it's probably okay not to try) Take the risk! Expose thine loins of taste! It's not just about you, it's about humanity! Art blah blah bladee blah!

Help a creator out!

But.

But, on the other, other paw...

You just want to keep the greatness for yourself. Because sometimes: fuck the plebes. The reason you think they don't understand like you do is that they don't. After all, if they did, they wouldn't need you to explain why good shit is good to them, now would they? And no, they aren't going to like all of that weird great shit you like, because they just don't have the same capacity for seeking out and comprehending greatness that you do. And when they give you the look, the eyebrow, the smirk, the meh, you just give em the ol devil horns and crazyface and be content with how awesome you are at being learned and appreciating good art or whatever. 

Just remember, no one gives a fuck. And if you want them to, you gotta show them why they should. Preferably without making them think that you're crazy--er, that is, preferably without revealing that you're crazy. Or, actually, you know what? A little crazy is okay. 'cause in the real world, The Mars Volta are pretty popular?

And besides, its only a  ______.

(...haha. Yeah right.)

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UPDATE: Coincidentally,  this podcast with John Hodgman and special guest/badass John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats examines this very same theme